


good to love

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel
Genre: ADHD!Steve, M/M, Modern day highschool au, Nerd!Bucky, Punk!Steve, autistic!steve, bpd!Bucky, dyslexic!Steve, gdov shows up way later, i based both Bucky and Steve's personalities on little parts of my personality tbh, latinx!Bucky, they're seniors in high school, trans!bucky, you're good for now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 17:58:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7278145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James meets the new transfer student, Steve, who's seemingly a little too crust-punk for his taste. Excitement ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	good to love

"Steven Grant Rogers, get your ass back here!" An angry man's voice screams in the distance, and Steven laughs heartily. "Fuck you, Dad!" Steven cries out, his motorcycle roaring as he revs away. Steven's backpack is slung tight across his back, and he pushes 50 MPH on his way to school, but not before stopping at the gas station and buying a pack of Newports. Cheap? Maybe. Trashy? Definitely. 

Steven pulls into a parking space closest to the door and turns off his motorcycle, putting his feet down and balancing himself. Steven pulls off his helmet and a loose bun of lavender hair flops out, and Steven puts his helmet down and pulls the hair tie out of his hair. His lavender hair falls in a long sheath, reaching his hips. He could braid it, sure, but he loves having hair to flip around. His dad positively hates it- he always tells Steven that he should be grateful for his naturally golden-blond hair, and Steven scoffs in response every time. Seriously? Be thankful for his Aryan roots? His dad sounds little bit more like a Donald Trump rally-goer every day. 

Steven flips the kickstand down and swings his right leg over, dismounting the midnight-black motorcycle. He pulls his left arm free from the backpack strap and swings his backpack to his side and pulls out his wallet from a small, hidden pouch. Steven turns the wallet over in his fingers a couple of times. He runs his fingers over the edges of the leather, and admires the feeling for a second. He walks, chin up and head held high into the gas station. 

His Doc Martens give him a more dominant, demanding presence, and they're cracked and filthy. Steven always wears his black leather jacket- it's covered in patches from various punk bands. His jeans are ripped all over and pinned with safety pins. Steven patiently waits in line at the counter, rustling one hand through his long, dusty purple hair. He hears murmurs, but he always does. He moved from Brooklyn, New York, to the middle of Arkansas. Of course he's going to get looks and murmurs, and whispers amongst the old and young. He doesn't care. He loves the attention.

It's Steven's turn at the counter, and he flashes the cashier a patient smile. "One pack of Newports, please." Steven asks politely, wallet still in hand. "You got some ID, baby?" The cashier asks, voice hoarse and rough. "Mmmmhm!" Steve hums aloud, as he pulls his ID out. The cashier scans his card, and the pack of Newports. "That'll be $3.38." The cashier says, deadpan. Steven hands the cashier a five dollar bill, and she hands him his cigarettes and his ID. Steven briefly pats his pocket in search for his lighter. "Fuck me. Actually, hold on, let me a get a lighter, too." Steven says, and the cashier pulls a black lighter from the rack beside her. She rings it up, handing Steven back three cents change. 

"You have a good day, sweetheart." The cashier says, smiling patiently. "You too!" Steven replies, grinning widely. 

Steven leaves the store and stands by his motorcycle outside, putting his wallet in his backpack, and he reaches into his motorcycle's side pocket. He pulls up a hidden ring and a false bottom comes up, and he slides the cigarettes and lighter in, alongside a dog tag necklace and a tattered Moleskine journal. He replaces the fake bottom and shakes his hair away from his face. As he looks up, he makes eye contact with a little brunette boy from across the entryway opening of the gas station. He smiles brightly and waves, wiggling each finger individually. The brunette blushes and looks away, and Steven laughs audibly. He shakes out his hair and pulls the hair tie from his wrist and ties up a messy bundle of hair, before swinging his leg back over his motorcycle. 

Steven slides his helmet back on, and leaning back briefly, starts his motorcycle up. He waddles out of the parking space after getting one last look at the brunette boy. He revs up his motorcycle, and glides out of the gas station parking lot. He rides to school, and pulls up in a spot closest to the door. Steven pulls his left arm out of his backpack strap again and puts his motorcycle keys in his pocket. He's got a parking sticker for the school already taped to the windshield of his motorcycle. His mom, Sarah, told him to park closest to the door. "I don't give a fuck who's space it is, Steven, it can be the god damned president's space for all I care! You are NOT going to get your motorcycle fucked up by some jackass with a Subaru."

There was no point protesting, because he knew his mother would come down and scream at every administrator possible if someone so much as laid a hand on his motorcycle. Steven flips the kickstand down and swings his leg over, pulling off his helmet. He pulls his hair free from the bun again, and pats the seat twice. "Be good for me, baby." Steven murmurs to the motorcycle. The motorcycle gently crackles in response. Steven smiles to himself and struts into the school. 

Steven pushes through the double doors into the office, and smiles warmly to the woman sitting at the desk. "How can I help you, sweetheart?" The receptionist asks kindly as a phone begins to ring. "Uh, I need my schedule. I'm a new transfer student." Steven says, placing his helmet down on the counter with a gentle thud. "Schedule, right! One second, let me get this call before this phone drives me to drink. Take a seat, angel." The receptionist says, gesturing an open hand to a cushioned bench. Steven grabs his helmet and shuffles over to the bench, sitting down briskly. He slides his feet from underneath him and presses his head against the wall, eyes closed. 

Steven listens patiently as the receptionist murmurs something about "ISS" and "bring a change of clothes". Steven begins to absentmindedly rock his foot back and forth, tapping it against the air. He hears the click of the phone landing in the cradle, and the receptionist clear her throat. "Uh, sweetpea? I got'yer schedule right here." The receptionist drawls, voice bright.

Steven leaps up from the bench, and retrieves his schedule. "Awright, baby. Your first class is Trig. Personally, I hate Trig, and I hate this damn teacher. Oop, pardon my French. Anyways, you'll leave this room, go down the hallway, take a right, and go to "B" hall. Walk aaaalll the way down "B" hall, and he'll be your second-to-last door on the right," The receptionist says, talking with her hands. "You got that?"  
"Yeah, I think so! Thank you so much." Steven says, extending his hand to shake hers. She places her hand in his large, calloused one, and firmly shakes. "Yer guide should be in there. His name's James. Keep yer eyes peeled for him, awright?" She asks, her eyes meeting Steven's for a brief second. Steven's eyes flick around her face, avoiding eye contact. "James. Got it." Steven says finalizing the handshake. 

Steven leaves the office and walks down the hallway, taking two rights. He arrives at a door marked "12th Grade Trig, Mr. Mann." Steven laughs briefly at the name before knocking twice. The balding teacher standing at the door looks up from the board, and waves his hand twice, gesturing for Steven to come in. Steven twists the big metal doorknob, and pushes in, exhaling heavily. His heart is racing, and he's avoiding all possible eye contact.

"Uh, I'm a transfer student? My name is Steven." Steven says, holding out his mint green schedule paper. The teacher walks over to Steven and pulls it from his trembling hand. "Steven, right. OK, Steven, sit there, next to James." Mr. Mann says, pointing to an empty seat at the back of the class. Mr. Mann hands him back his schedule, and Steven walks to the empty seat, boots loudly clunking against the tiled floors. Steven's eyes flick up briefly, so he can see who he's meant to sit next to, and his heart thrums quickly with excitement. It's the brunette boy from the gas station. "You're James?" Steven asks, his voice low. 

James blushes and fidgets in his seat. "Yes, why do you care?" He hisses, defensive. Steven is taken aback by the rude greeting. "You're my school tour guide," Steven says, settling in to his seat and flinging his backpack and helmet to the floor. James takes the knuckle of his index finger and pushes his glasses up on his nose. James sighs harshly. "Fucking.. Jesus." James murmurs to himself, head shaking with disbelief. 

"Fine," James growls, impatient. "I'll handle this after class. For now, sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up. There's a test tomorrow and I need to take these notes." James' face begins to redden slightly, and he tucks his face into his shoulder. Steven nods once, eyes wide and lips pursed tightly. Steven shakes his head twice gently, lavender hair spilling all over the back of his seat. 

James can't help but stare, and when he catches himself distracted by the taller man's beauty, he blinks twice hard and shakes his head. 

"I am NOT going to get involved in this." James thinks to himself, glaring intently at the board.

**Author's Note:**

> man this is gonna be good, i know that this is kind of a tired verse but i added neurodivergencies to make it a little bit more relatable to the #teens yfm? 
> 
> all neurodivergencies [aside from dyslexia] are based on my personal experiences with these neurodivergencies. yes, a neurodivergent person who is actually informed about the mental illness wrote about characters w mental illness. it's amazing huh 
> 
> also yes the chapter title was based on the nofx song "separation of church and skate"- i listened to some questionable music while i wrote this
> 
> as always hmu on tumblr- http://rosegoldvenus.tumblr.com


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